


Faith and Peace

by solisaureus



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Ophilia ch 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-04 09:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15838434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solisaureus/pseuds/solisaureus
Summary: Ophilia is the most recent addition to a group of eight peculiar travelers, and no one captures her fascination more than Primrose. Ophilia is determined to discover the source of this woman's pain, and do everything she can to bring her peace.Meanwhile, Primrose is struggling over what it means to have faith when she meets the woman who would be the answer, to this and to every question she didn't know she had.





	1. Chapter 1

Kindlings weren’t meant to start out this way. The sacrament is meticulously planned, the Flamebearer chosen with great deliberation. According to precedent, the mantle of Flamebearer cannot be passed to another under any circumstances, and both Ophilia and her sister knew it. Lianna’s grief and anxiety for the Archbishop’s failing health tangled with her sense of duty, but not once did she consider forfeiting her role in the Kindling. The other members of the church saw no issue with her resolve, but Ophilia knew her sister better than she knew herself. Lianna was broken, cracked like an old branch by the howling wind. She could hold herself up now, but any number of the dangers along the path of the Kindling would be enough to snap her in two. The prospect of His Excellency’s imminent passing was distressing enough, and if Lianna were to carry the ember, Ophilia was sure she would lose her whole family all over again. 

“So I intend to receive the ember and perform the Kindling in Lianna’s stead,” Ophilia explained, exhilarated from the hurried recounting of the past few days. Scattered white puffs of her breath hung in the frigid air between her and the strange woman who had accosted her along her path to the Cave of Origin. 

The stranger crossed her arms, which had caught Ophilia’s attention the moment she saw her, since they were both remarkably toned and strikingly bare in the frozen climate. The woman turned to glance back at her two companions, a man dressed in black academic robes and another whose face was obscured by their wide scarf, and then back to Ophilia. “We will helpen thee,” she said with a definitive nod.

Ophilia was so preoccupied with her pressing dilemma, she hardly stopped to consider the implications of joining up with a bunch of strangers. The Kindling is meant to be a solitary journey, but then the premise of Ophilia’s mission was already a breach of tradition. It was unclear why these people wanted to help a woman they didn’t know with an objective that meant nothing to them, but those were only the first of many questions she would soon have about these travelers. 

\--

The scholarly man was named Cyrus, and he seemed a rather eager fellow. Despite his dark, demure attire Cyrus had the disposition of a dog on a walk: always sniffing for something new and exciting and bursting with enthusiasm to meet new people. Ophilia hadn’t even had to ask for the man’s name, he had offered her an introduction unprompted scarcely a moment after she had accepted the company on the path to the Cave of Origin. It was from Cyrus that Ophilia learned about the other two, H’aanit the huntress and Therion the thief, because they both seemed disinclined to small talk. H’aanit, at least, was polite if a bit distant, while the other outright shrugged off Ophilia’s attempt at civility. According to Cyrus, he was like that with everyone they met and she shouldn’t take it personally. 

The Cave of Origin tested the worth of the Flamebearer by way of a fierce battle with a guardian resembling a remnant, and Ophilia was astounded by the capabilities of the three travelers. She spent the fight frantically healing and casting spells of protection, while Cyrus identified the beast’s weak points with his magic and the other two struck it with weapons. Therion was quick as a fox, sneaking in close to the guardian to slice it with a blade before it could move to attack. H’aanit, in contrast, stayed back to besiege their foe with volley after volley of arrows, her steady bowstring arm taking hardly a moment to rest. It was chaotic, frightening and thrilling at the same time, and Ophilia had never experienced such a rush of danger before. 

When they finally earned their victory, with the four of them doubled over and heaving with exertion, Ophilia felt an inexplicable sentiment somewhere between fondness and duty toward these three people she had barely met. Perhaps by being compelled to keep them safe in the face of grave peril she had forged a kinship that could not be replicated outside of battle. 

With the guardian defeated, the ember of the Sacred Flame was bestowed upon Ophilia. The tiny blue flame leapt into her lantern, and it was such a fragile, immature wisp that it hardly seemed like a part of the magnificent life-giving Sacred Flame brought down by the god Aelfric in ages past. 

“Are you quite alright, Ophilia?” Cyrus inquired, falling back in his pace to walk in step with the cleric on the path back to Flamesgrace. 

Ophilia nodded. “Just a little breathless. I’ve never been in a fight before. You three were incredible!” 

Cyrus laughed, and a few paces ahead H’aanit flashed a smile over her shoulder. “Thou hast foughten bravely,” she commended. “‘Twas a relief and an asset to haven a healer on our side.”

Blushing at the praise, Ophilia mumbled some flustered expression of humility and turned her gaze to the packed snow at her feet. 

“We left the young apothecary who is normally with us at the inn back in town,” Cyrus explained. “He is always tending to ailments, without complaint or concern for his own need to rest, the poor fellow. He will be most pleased to hear we were not completely medically helpless without him.”

“I should like to meet him. How long have you been traveling together?” Ophilia asked. 

“Well, I myself met up with everyone not...three weeks hence,” Cyrus said, ticking off his fingertips as he counted. “But the rest of the group has been together much longer.”

Ophilia tilted her head like a bird. “Do you have more companions?”

“Oh, yes!” Cyrus confirmed with a smile. “The other three stayed behind with our friend Alfyn in Flamesgrace. It would be our pleasure to introduce you once you get things settled with the Kindling!” 

\--

Ophilia had only ever been to Flamesgrace’s local tavern once before, when she and Lianna had snuck away with a few leaves they’d saved up to buy themselves some hot cocoa as a secret treat. It wasn’t the type of place that clergy were known to frequent, although as taverns went it was relatively scrupulous. Villagers gathered there more for the warm food and company rather than to leer and drink. And so Ophilia had no objections when H’aanit brought her there to meet the rest of their group of travelers. 

Cyrus was upon them the moment they opened the door, ushering them inside from the cold. Ophilia glanced around, taking in the upbeat chatter of her village neighbors gathered around the fireplace with steaming mugs in their laps and the sunny glow of the simple chandelier above them. She also spotted Therion leaning against the bar, standing apart from the table of four people that Cyrus was leading her toward. 

Two of them stood up to greet her, and Ophilia’s attention was instantly torn between a young girl in a feathered hat and a scruffy-looking country boy with a smile nearly bigger than his face. H’aanit sidestepped them to sit down next to a bear of a man with the biggest sword Ophilia had ever seen sheathed at his hip. Across from him was a strikingly attractive woman, adorned in gold jewelry that glittered like freshly fallen snow in the light, her chin resting on her tapered wrist as she scrutinized the newcomer with her dark eyes. 

“This is Alfyn, the gifted apothecary I told you about,” said Cyrus, gesturing toward the scruffy one. “And this young lady is Tressa, an aspiring merchant who has struck us more bargains than we could ever have dreamed to make without her.”

“Pleased to meet’cha,” said Alfyn, grasping Ophilia’s hand in both of his own. “Don’t you let Cyrus brag about us. I’m no gifted prodigy, just a hardworking guy with a handful of herbs and a job to do!”

“Speak for yourself, Alf!” Tressa exclaimed, shouldering him aside and shaking Ophilia’s other hand with a surprisingly firm grip. “He didn’t brag about me enough! Aspiring? Please, I’m gonna be the greatest merchant Osterra has ever seen!”

Ophilia giggled, charmed beyond words and overwhelmed into silence. She let herself be pushed and pulled by her new friends until she was sitting down at the table beside the enchanting woman. Ophilia’s heart raced to find that her scent was almost more alluring than her looks; the fragrance of cinnamon and jasmine rolled off of her and had a magnetic effect on the cleric. 

Cyrus continued by placing his hands on the broad shoulders of the swordsman beside H’aanit. “This here is Olberic, who tends to keep his personal details to himself, but is nevertheless a stalwart fighter and reliable companion.” 

The man gave a cordial nod to Ophilia, which she returned. His imposing size and reserved aura would have otherwise intimidated her, but somehow she felt she could trust him, like he wasn’t a stranger but someone she had known for years. 

Cyrus finished off his introductions with a flourishing gesture. “And finally, you find yourself beside Primrose, a dancer from the Sunlands of exemplary skill and grace.” 

“Cyrus, you are a compulsory flatterer” said the woman, the bangles on her wrist clinking together as she waved her hand at him. 

“You’re a dancer?” Ophilia asked, turning to face her. “I’ve always been captivated by them, whenever a troupe of performers would visit town.”

Primrose’s lips twitched upward and she tilted her head. “Is that so?” she purred. 

Nerves overtook Ophilia, as though her polite comment had betrayed an embarrassing personal detail without her knowledge. “I, um…” 

Primrose chuckled. “It’s a pleasure,” she said, releasing Ophilia from her intense gaze and cutting off her foolish stammering. “Thank you for keeping my companions alive.”

Ophilia felt her shoulders relax and her face return to a normal temperature. “O-Oh, it was no--”

“So tell me all about that battle!” interrupted Alfyn from the other side of the cleric, elbowing her. “Heard it was a big fish. Wish I had gotten a crack at it!” he said, pounding his fist into his other palm. 

Ophilia began to respond, but she was still distracted by Primrose, who took the opportunity to stand up, smooth her skirt, and dismiss herself for the night. It was only when she had disappeared through the tavern door, braving the snow without even a coat, that Ophilia could give her full attention to anyone else. 

A group of eight travelers, all with individual journeys. In the back of her mind as she recounted the fight with the guardian to Alfyn, Ophilia pondered what unpredictable adventures she would be a part of as she completed the Kindling, and what kinds of bonds she would forge before she made her way back home.

\--  
The first stop along the Kindling’s path was Saintsbridge, a quaint town in the Riverlands with an impressive chapel. The rite itself had gone smoothly, despite an unrelated conflict in town that Ophilia was determined to resolve. That evening, Ophilia sat on one of the stone benches in the square where she’d encountered the children earlier, holding her lantern which flickered with the ember in her lap. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and the others were preparing for sleep at the inn, but Ophilia needed time to mull over her journey so far and what she’d achieved since she left home.

Compared to others in the group, she couldn’t help but feel like her accomplishments were somewhat meager. While she felt good about restoring the friendship of two children, she wasn’t saving lives like Alfyn or outsting exploitative tycoons like Tressa. But she had made progress on the Kindling, and she knew that keeping the Sacred Flame alight was a noble endeavor. She thought of the precious time that she was buying for Lianna to spend with their father, and took a deep breath of the night air. 

Putting aside her anxieties for a moment, her thoughts turned to her the strange and fascinating people she had been traveling with. Ophilia couldn’t claim to have intimate knowledge of the others; it had only been a few weeks, but at least she had a consistent understanding of most of her new companions. There were hardly any barriers to getting to know Cyrus, Alfyn, and Tressa. The three of them were open and eager conversationalists. In fact, at times it was a challenge to get Cyrus to _stop_ talking. Olberic and H’aanit were cordial, but distant at first. The swordsman was reluctant to speak on his past, and Ophilia had no intention to pry. She was comfortable around him, and in many ways he reminded her of Archbishop Josef. H’aanit’s stern demeanor made her seem unapproachable, but that image of her in Ophilia’s mind melted away the first time she saw the tough huntress tickling Linde’s paws like a mother doting on her baby. 

It was a greater challenge to crack Therion’s hard shell. While she could tell he wasn’t a cruel man, he did seem dedicated to his solitude. Ophilia guessed that his standoffish attitude had more to do with himself rather than his opinion of others. She left him alone as he wished, hoping that with time he would come to trust her. 

And then there was Primrose, who interacted with Ophilia exactly no more than she needed to. It was Primrose that confounded and fascinated her the most. Like Therion, she was reluctant to make attachments, but unlike him she did not advertise her withdrawn nature. It was just a simple truth that dawned on Ophilia naturally once she had spent enough time with her. The two were having a pleasant talk over dinner one evening a few days after they’d left Flamesgrace and Ophilia realized, with all the subtle enlightenment of the sun emerging from behind a cloud, that Primrose was concealing her true self. She began paying close attention to the dancer, and noticed that she slept the least out of everyone, that she spent the most time staring into space, that she helped out without ever being asked, while wearing an obligatory smile that may as well have been a mask. 

“Want some company?” said a familiar voice, snapping Ophilia out of her reverie. She looked up to see Alfyn’s smile glowing in the lamplight. She scooted over on the bench to make room for him. 

“You have such a talent for knowing when others are distraught,” remarked Ophilia, and she meant it. It was one of Alfyn’s most valuable, and enviable, traits.

Alfyn shrugged. “‘S just diagnostics, part of the job. What’s on your mind, little lady?”

“Oh, just reflecting on the day,” Ophilia sighed. “And...I admit that my thoughts are with His Excellency. But I feel at peace, to know that at least Lianna is by his side.”

“Good on you to have faith in your family,” said Alfyn. “It’s important for Archbishop Josef to have loved ones around, but it means even more for Lianna to have that time with her pa. It’ll help her with healing down the road. You did a real brave thing to give her that, Ophilia. I can tell you love them very much.”

The cleric was quiet for a moment, squeezing her hands and chewing her cheek. Then she turned her eyes to Alfyn and said, “His Excellency was right, wasn’t he? When he said he wasn’t long for this world. I’ve...I’ve already seen him for the last time, haven’t I?” 

Alfyn frowned, and his brown eyes softening with pity, and he nodded. “‘Fraid that may be so. I was able to get a good look at him, but...there’s not much my herbs and potions can do against the frailty of old age. I’m real sorry.”

Ophilia felt her eyes starting to gather tears, but she did her best to swallow the lump in her throat. “You have no reason to apologize,” she said, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. “Everyone must pass through the gate, even the ones we love. No healer has, nor should they have, the power to halt death.”

“A wise lesson, even if a tough one.” Alfyn chewed his lip. “Glad to hear you’re holding up well. Though I gotta be honest with you, this is where my intuition has limits. I was actually expectin’ you to be out here mulling on something else.”

Ophilia eyed him curiously. “What might that be?”

Alfyn scratched the back of his head. “Alright, I hope I don’t come off nosy but...I figured you might want to talk about Primrose.”

“P-Primrose?” Ophilia exclaimed. “Why would I...What makes you think that?”

The man tilted his head in a noncommittal shrug. “She doesn’t concern you then?”

“No, I...I suppose she does occupy a certain...curiosity,” Ophilia said, reluctant to lie but hoping to incriminate herself as little as possible.

“See, that’s what I thought, with the way you’re always watchin’ her. The way you look at her is different from how you look at everybody else. I figured you might have questions about her.”

Ophilia had nothing to offer in her defense. She put a hand to her reddened cheek and averted her eyes. She had no idea that the others could tell where she was looking, and prayed to Aelfric that Primrose wasn’t as observant as Alfyn.

“Don’t be bashful now, it’s understandable!” Alfyn said, clapping a hand on her back. “Prim’s got as much mystery as beauty about her. It’s only natural for you to be curious.”

Ophilia leaned back and tilted her face to the sky before meeting Alfyn’s gaze again. “It’s just that she seems so troubled, and I wish I knew why. I wish I knew why she pretends not to be.”

“Well, I suppose you don’t know what she’s out here traveling with us for, huh?” Alfyn surmised, crossing his arms. “You weren’t there when we first picked her up in Sunshade. It was just H’aanit, Therion, and me back then. You’re right in sayin’ she’s got troubles, Primrose was just a girl when she watched her father’s murder. After that she was workin’ as a dancer for this awful guy who treated her like she was nothing, all for the off-chance that her father’s killers might stop in town. Now she’s tryin’ to bring them all to justice, by her own hand.”

Ophilia gaped at him, her eyes widening more the longer the story went on, stricken for words by the end. So Primrose had been orphaned by violence, just like her. She was carrying the kind of grief reserved for loved ones taken unjustly, and with it a vengeful fury. Ophilia thought of the anguish in her heart for the Archbishop on his deathbed back in Flamesgrace, and could scarcely imagine that there would be room alongside it for the indignant rage she’d feel if he were to be taken by deliberate murder instead of his naturally failing body. How Primrose could carry on, find purpose and will to face each day, how her heart hadn’t ruptured from the sheer volume of her pain...it was unconscionable. Ophilia shook her head. Primrose must have been the strongest person she’d had ever encountered. 

Alfyn sensed her drop in mood, and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s not an easy tale to hear, huh?”

Ophilia stared blindly at the cobblestone at her feet. “No, it’s...it’s…” She breathed. “I have to help her. She cannot carry that burden alone.”

“We’re all helping her,” Alfyn reminded her. “The rest of us are doing everything we can to bring her to her goal.” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Ophilia said. “She...she’s keeping people at a distance. She’s suffering her pain on her own. She’s trying to convince everyone that she’s capable of handling it herself, but...Alfyn, I can’t imagine how she must feel.”

Alfyn was kind, he had the empathy of a true healer and the patience of a true friend. But he didn’t understand how Ophilia felt about Primrose. Of course, she wanted to help her accomplish her mission, she wanted to support her on and off the battlefield, but more than that...she wanted to bring her peace, which must have evaded her since she was a child. She wanted to be the light that had long ago winked out from Primrose’s life.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Primrose investigates Ophilia's feelings, and comes to grips with her own.

Primrose knew when eyes were on her. Part of what made her the prize of the Sunlands was her swiftness in identifying those who paid her special attention. Whenever a patron’s gaze rested on her, she’d pick it up like the scent of blood, and could trace it back to the viewer like a hound on the hunt. Men are always happy to ogle, especially when the women are unable to reject the attention, but Primrose was renowned for taking it a step above and playing into their fantasies of reciprocation. Swinging her hips in the direction of particularly enraptured men and occasionally throwing a half-lidded expression over her shoulder to them never failed to rake in more coin for the house. 

And so Primrose had detected Ophilia’s lingering stare the night they met, with all the delay of a beggar noticing the flash of a stray gold leaf on the street. She was almost surprised (and perhaps disappointed), that she recognized the feeling from a woman of the church, and a rather delicate one at that. It felt backwards, contradictory, for someone like _her_ to look at Primrose like _that_. But then feeling Ophilia’s eyes on her was such a far cry from the lewd ogling of the tavern patrons that she was used to. Under her gaze she felt...safe, almost comfortable, rather than pricked with the urgency to please, or burning with resentment. She knew she was being watched and for once it didn’t bother her. Ophilia admired the dancer but didn’t want anything from her, and for a while that was enough to satisfy Primrose. 

But as the weeks wore on, Primrose found herself incapable of taming her curiosity. Ophilia had been thoughtfully doting on her: cooking her breakfast, doing her chores for her and checking her over after every battle. She was, of course, a selfless kind of person: a cleric devoted to the service of others, but it was dubious whether that explained the extent of her attention to Primrose. A brief chat with Alfyn revealed to the dancer that Ophilia washed Primrose’s clothes along with her own, but nobody else’s. H’aanit told her that when Ophilia helped her cook, she seemed interested in finding out Primrose’s favorite foods and flavors so she could incorporate them into the group’s meals. At what point should Primrose be suspicious that Ophilia’s heart was harboring more than just obligate altruism? Did her frequent staring at the dancer actually go beyond shallow fascination? 

Primrose would have her answers. It was a warm night in Goldshore, and the sand of the beach evoked memories of the desert, and yet could not be more different. The coast was teeming with life, the constant beating of the ocean providing a gentle static backdrop to the chirping of insects in the shrubbery on the edge of town. In contrast, the sands of Sunshade were cold as ice at night, and every living thing that inhabited them had to struggle to survive. Here it seemed so easy, like anyone could find a life worth living without even trying. 

Primrose didn’t need to turn her head to sense Ophilia padding through the sand behind her. “Can’t sleep?” came that bell of a voice.

“Not any more than usual.”

Ophilia hesitated. “May I join you?”

“By all means,” Primrose said, patting the spot beside her. Ophilia sat and crossed her legs, which were clad in loose trousers and free of footwear. Her pale hair, looking more silver than blonde in the monochromatic night, was tied in a French braid that unveiled the smooth shape of her neck and shoulders. 

“How do you like Goldshore?” Ophilia politely inquired. She seemed particularly inclined to small talk, although Primrose wondered if that was another habit she withheld from the rest of the group. Perhaps it was another benevolent ruse, an excuse just to talk to Primrose.

“It’s a nice town,” Primrose said. “The sea is lovely.”

“I’m happy you like it here. We will have to come back sometime for the second part of the Kindling.”

Primrose quirked an eyebrow at her. “Why don’t you do it before we leave?”

“The Ember is still too weak from restoring the Flame in Saintsbridge,” Ophilia said, shaking her head. “Besides, the clergy have been busy looking after all the sick people. They need time to recover, too.” 

“Always thinking of others, aren’t you?” Primrose said. She gave Ophilia a fond smile, and hoped she understood that there was no accusation in her tone. 

Ophilia tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and looked up at the moon. “Well, someone has to.”

Primrose considered her for a few moments. After spending so much time in Helgenish’s service, she found empathy refreshing. Girls like Ophilia, who prioritize others’ needs over their own, don’t tend to last long in the brothel. The memory of Yusufa and how she’d lost her life trying to help Primrose blew through her like a frigid wind, and she grasped her own arms like she was bracing herself. 

Ophilia turned her warm eyes back to the other woman. “Are you cold?” she asked. 

Primrose stood up suddenly, brushing off the concern. She had become disenchanted by small talk. “Ophilia.”

The cleric glanced between Primrose’s unreadable face and the hand she was extending to her. “...Yes?”

“Dance with me.”

Ophilia clutched her hands to her chest. “Now? I...I-I don’t know how. And there’s no music!”

“I’ll show you,” Primrose said, and when Ophilia still hesitated, added, “Please.”

Ophilia bit her lip, but took the hand that was offered to her and let herself be pulled to her feet. Her own hands were moved to rest on Primrose’s hips, and she felt bare arms twist around her neck. Primrose began humming a soothing tune so low it was nearly inaudible and the two started to sway and turn together. Ophilia wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but this soft motion was a far cry from Primrose’s inspiring energy that Ophilia was used to seeing in battle. Although it was equally beautiful in its own right, in the same way that it’s unfair to compare the rhythm of steady rain to the powerful crack of thunder. 

Ophilia could feel the other woman’s eyes challenging her to meet them, and found that she couldn’t do it. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d been craving Primrose’s touch until it was suddenly all around her, and now she was overwhelmed by it. She felt like a woman dying of thirst who tried to drink from a river and instead fell into the current, and couldn’t keep her head above water. She could not disguise her loss of balance; it was evident from the blush in her face to the fumbling of her feet. 

It was all the answer that Primrose needed.

\--

The left wing of the crow crumpled at Primrose’s feet, the seeping flow of his blood staining the blue carpet a sticky purple. His killer stared down at her first conquest along the path she’d chosen, her father’s dagger still dripping red, and attempted to decipher how she felt. 

There was no guilt or regret in Primrose’s mind. In fact, she almost wished she’d made him suffer more. As though her father’s murder wasn’t enough to justify her violent means, she figured the world could always use one less pimp. To even think that Arianna had suffered under Rufus’s hand the way Primrose had suffered under Helgenish filled Primrose with enough rage that she wished she could resurrect the dead so she could take his life twice. No, he’d met an end far too merciful for the deplorable life he’d led. 

And yet in the absence of negative reactions, Primrose harbored no positive feelings in their stead. She felt no relief, nor accomplishment or vindication when the bastard finally fell. Her heart was empty of all passions. It was simply...done. Two to go. 

There was no reason to remain in Stillsnow. Primrose packed up her few belongings, said her goodbyes to Arianna, and headed to the tavern to wait for her companions to be ready for departure. It was a busy day for the tavern, and a pair of musicians had taken the stage, playing a tune that matched the feeling inspired by falling snow. Primrose sat in a secluded corner with a drink, trying to focus on the performance instead of her own thoughts. It wasn’t long before she was distracted by the sound of Cyrus’s slightly-too-loud voice a few paces off, and looked over to see the man caught up in a conversation with Ophilia. 

Eavesdropping would be the least of the sins that Primrose committed that day, so she concealed her presence within a nearby group of patrons and tuned in to the exchange. 

“--that she would ask for help when she needs it,” Ophilia was saying.

Cyrus nodded sagely. “You are kind to worry for her, Ophilia. But Primrose has done things on her own her whole life. I believe she wanted that encounter to be a solo act.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t make it right.”

“She is stronger than you perhaps give her credit for.”

Ophilia ran her hand through her hair and sighed. “Primrose is a stronger woman than I’ll ever be. I’m sure I’m deluding myself in thinking she needs _my_ help when I must seem so soft to her.”

This sentiment was nearly shocking enough for Primrose to reveal herself and shake Ophilia by the shoulders. How could she possibly have come to that conclusion? Primrose’s father had always told her, “let faith be your shield,” and now here she was, knee-deep in her personal mission, struggling to identify anything that she truly believed in. She could endure harsh torments and deliver swift and cruel justice, but she knew her lack of real conviction made her weak. When Primrose met Ophilia, she immediately saw that strength in her. What a tremendous asset to let her beliefs guide her, to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she was doing the right thing. Primrose couldn’t even recall the last time she could rely on faith like that, and she could scarcely believe that Ophilia felt that way when all this time, Primrose had been envious of _her_ strength. 

Thankfully, Cyrus could see the fallacy in her logic too. “I wouldn’t say that,” he assured her. “Don’t be so quick to devalue your strengths. They may not be the same as another’s, but that hardly means they’re lesser.” 

Ophilia offered him an attempt at a smile. “I...well, thank you, Cyrus.”

Primrose turned her attention away from the conversation, her conscience finally catching up with her. In the following minutes the rest of their companions trickled into the tavern, with Therion bringing up the rear as usual. Primrose dragged herself out from her corner and, unwilling to discuss the day’s events with anyone, politely excused herself from the group to wait outside with Linde. She wrapped herself up in her cloak and watched as the fearsome animal rolled around in the snow like a kitten. 

The group finally set out from Stillsnow, leaving Primrose’s bloody wake behind them. They set their sights for Victors Hollow, where Olberic planned to follow up on a lead in his search for Erhardt. If nothing else, Primrose was looking forward to being out of these frigid lands.

As they made their way along the path out of town, Ophilia departed from Cyrus’s side to catch up with Primrose. “Hey, Prim?” she inquired. 

Primrose hoped she wasn’t about to ask about the crows, or how she was feeling, because she wouldn’t even be able to come up with a lie for an answer. But she swallowed her doubts and turned her unassuming gaze to the cleric. “Hmm?”

Ophilia seemed to blush, although the red in her cheeks could just be from the onslaught of icy winds. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m glad I met you on this journey. I...I feel braver for having known you.”

These words spurred a fondness in Primrose that felt like the wingbeat of a long-caged bird. Primrose recognized the feeling immediately, and it inspired both hope and fear in her. She glanced at Ophilia again, whose easy, light expression cast her own conflict into relief. “That’s good to hear,” she said, realizing a response was probably expected of her. “I feel the same.”

Her heart that was so long shuttered by anger and hate was starting to bloom with affection. She had been through so much loss, and the road to violent revenge was hardly the place to form attachments. But Ophilia wanted her, and Primrose couldn’t deny that she felt the need to keep her close. She knew what that meant. There was nothing she could do to smoke the feeling out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is a bit short! But I felt like this was a natural place to cut it off! There should be more drama in the next chapter :^)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments! You're what motivate me to keep writing!
> 
> Special thanks to Pheebs who made a beautiful fanart based on chapter 1 of this fic!! I can't overstate how flattered I am that my work could inspire yours!! Check it out: https://twitter.com/phlavours/status/1042080077905883137

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot planned for this fic! I'm not sure how many chapters it'll be yet, but this is barely the beginning. I have so much to say about this ship. I hope I can convey it all and do these two justice. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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